Every year he drives up from Washington

parks his camper on the land

spends weeks watching the clapping of leaves in the wind,

how the river goosenecks in the valley, below

and he clears deadfall, walks

the land from all angles envisions the placement

of a house just so

He has hands that have built things, thick-fingered

rough-hewn, hardened

He knows tools: the ax, the pick, and the saw

he thinks of nothing else when he gets back home, to live in a landscape he loves, to create

something new from the ground up, but…

But I’m 75, he says

and my son says why bother, insinuating

“you’ll die soon”

…and I say to the man, so what?

I say dreams don’t die until we’re cold and dark, under

I say live that vision in your mind’s eye

I say walk your dream, home

6 thoughts on “Too Late?”

  1. Ginny Berry Marzonie

    Yes Dear Cuz I love this as well! It’s beginning to be more relevant as I age but we always think we can do what we use to. NEVER give up..

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